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Jaya Twill
No Easy TaskI liked my parents growing up, and I think they liked me, too. Always early, never late; not a kiss, too meek to date. Top of my class; Mozart issued from underneath my bedroom door. Respectful and polite; I held my tongue; I never swore. This suited me for many years; rewarded for docility. Perhaps ostracised by my peers due to sensitivity. At times I felt as though I could be something more. I dreamt of an escape from the constant duty and the humdrum chore. As if in answer to my prayers, I found myself seduced by the raucous girl next door: Amelia. Everyone said that she’d be famous. Pretty, a flirt, seductive, and vivacious. She often chose the desk closest to teacher’s. Pink push-up bras; high-heeled shoes; trysts on field trips; the local muse. Poolside at the country club brushing long blonde locks; her bikinis always tiny, a thread against my one-piece frocks. She teased me, relentlessly. Afraid of boys, obsessed with school; pedantic adherence to the rules.
A favourite outfit lived on the corner of my vanity. Worn wool, shin-length, pleated tweed skirt, with loose-fitting buttoned-up cream chiffon shirt. Navy Mary Janes complete with velcro straps, a headband, a flower made of lace with snaps to keep in place. My face squeaky clean, hair so short and brown. If I was walking with Amelia, I’d go unnoticed throughout town.
My image drove her mad. At her house, she’d prance and play. I’d sit and read, paralysed by my own reticence, sure she’d bore of my patheticness. “Try wearing something new!” she’d say, as if she could will away my bashful body, bogged-down brain. Snapping at me, applying thickest layers of concealer on her skin. Her favourite makeup tip? With eyeliner: a drawn-on mole placed high above her lip. Jealousy bubbled; if only my breasts would bulge and hips could sway in mini skirts and halter tops; surreptitiously slipping crops of forgotten lacy garbs into my lumpy bag.
“I’m late for dinner!” or so I coughed. Skipping home with stolen treasures, time alone to don on drag, away from eyes I idolised; twirling in her tennis skirts and tight-chested not-enough-fabric-to-be-shirts. I swooned at reflected visions from the safety of my home. How I wished I had the confidence for these to be my own.
Garments marred with shame were thrust under my pillows: a confidential game.
Amelia would ponder, “Have you seen my tiny shorts? The ones I wore to gym today?”
“Sorry no!” I’d turn to say, hiding cheeks of flame. She’d corner me, her breath so sweet; fake beauty mark giving me a wink.
“You have to give this whole act up!” Afraid she’d caught me in my lies, bashfully avoiding her, fear apparent in my eyes. "It’s due time for you to learn – how to talk to guys. You must start now; we’ll be old soon.” Forcing lipstick on my mouth, spritzing throat with her perfume. On my vanity in red lipstick, she wrote a list of all the boys she’d ever kissed: Joe, Kevin, Jason, Rod, Mickey, Skip, Rudy, Todd, Buddy, Michael, Thomas, Dylan, Bobby, Phillip, Scott, Shane, William.
Her handwriting was perfect, not too slanted; neat small cursive. My ritual before sleeping? Reading all she had achieved. Boys’ names winking in their splendor, unaware of near-surrender.
17 years old came with such a jolt. Amelia had been discovered; it was time for her to bolt. She proudly packed her bags one day; became a model in LA. Not a day passed by we didn’t wonder if she’d fly or be sucked under. Soon her face and lips on billboards off the 5. I’d see her always on my homebound drive. A friend – a girl I know – peeking down, bedecked in jewels and eyeshadow. She’d left me behind, life uneventful. This wasn’t fair! I grew resentful.
On the first day of senior year, I readied in the mirror. My safety outfit donned, I tugged at my cropped mop. What self loathing had I spawned? Boys’ names in red lipstick; distant bliss. I’d never shared a kiss; I hardly owned a thong. My limbs twitched with nervousness. Could it go on like this; how long?
I dragged myself to school. Clouds were darkening above, I could feel the air grow cool. The grey sky opened up. One misstep, and Mary Janes slipped into a puddle; dirt-speckled navy, like a baby. I left them, sinking into muck. Drenched, my worn wool skirt; heavy, itchy, just my luck. A sparrow flew high up above, and – SPLAT – released a drop of love. Headband ruined, heart heavy, it seemed my whole world doomed. In the middle of the street tears welled up in my eyes, four words appearing in my mind, stopped me from my cry: What Would Amelia Do? I ventured barefoot to the mall; high heels, a push-up bra, many tubes of Ruby Woo. One by one I sought them out:
Joe was slow.
Kevin was heaven.
Jason was patient.
Rod was a god.
Mickey was persnickety.
Skip was ripped.
Rudy was moody.
Todd was odd.
Buddy was funny.
Michael rode a motorcycle.
Thomas was dishonest.
Dylan was a villain.
Bobby was sloppy.
Phillip had big lips.
Scott was taut.
Shane was vain.
William was brilliant.
Smudged makeup on the backs of hands and the seats of cars. An ironclad bond was sealed, the closest we’d been by far. My soul was fused to hers, she my shining star. I stomped with swagger through the streets; high heels clicking ‘neath my feet. She’d never scoff in my direction, if she knew how quickly I could tame erections. Greedily I gobbled clothes, addicted to this fresh attention. No thing I wouldn’t wear to garner male affection.
Amelia called to say she’d be in town for graduation. Would attend to see me walk and speak my exultation. Was proud of me, she had said. Hoped we could have a slumber party in her giant hotel bed.
A girl who’s been away from home has a different glimmer in her eye. Her hair was glossy, lips so plump, and her laugh was high. As we held hands and gabbed, walking through the park, the blue sky inside my mind changed quick from light to dark. She wove webs of stories about how her life had changed. Exotic coffees in the mornings, Michelin lunches every day. I listened, nodding, laughing, pretending to be gay. Amelia, so unaware of how little I could say. “But how are you?!” she trilled. “Surely everything is new! You’re confident, your hair is long, and how chic you’re looking, too. I recognise this top in fact, is it from the mall? I think I used to own it, but I donated it last fall.”
My high heels slapped against the pavement as she dragged me to her place. A 30-story hotel, which had never yet seen my face. In a softly lit elevator, a bellhop took us up. Staring at Amelia, drool trickled down his chin, enough to fill a cup.
“Hold my bag,” she said with ease. I perched in her room, feet splayed, knocked knees. It was messy, in a sultry kind of way. She then stripped to shower; promised she’d be done within the hour. My eyes feasted on discarded loot: Louboutins, Marc Jacobs dresses, Gaultier gowns, YSL clutches, Dior panties, pearls, a Swarovski crown.
“You can borrow anything! It’s your special day.” She styled me in Prada, satin, patterned: very bold. Kitten heels, a Coach bag, and a bracelet made of gold.
“Spin for me and smile? You look a darling!” she declared. "It suits you very well – don’t you just love to share?”
The auditorium air was thick, the room smelled strong of sweat. The light was bright and daunting – I soon began to fret. Amelia glanced around, ran fingers through her hair; the strap of her pink sundress slipped, she so unaware. Around us children cackled; teachers yelled and parents cooed. No degree of celebration could enhance my mood.
Perturbed was she as well, all around her boys were lusting. “How did I forget? Highschoolers are disgusting. You’ll be over them once you’ve frolicked in LA. Cali men are grown and handsome; I always get my way.” Her mouth smirked as she said it; she had me outstripped. The phony mole on her face drawn, quivered above her lip.
Patiently I sat on stage until my name was called. Todd and William were beside me craning necks, which I found supremely odd. They whispered to each other, then turned to me and squawked, “Amelia is here! Boy, is she a fox.”
My vision blurred, my heart beat quickened; hot tears flowed fast and strong. I shrugged it off as wistfulness: this was our own swan song. My speech was monumental, or so it was I’m told. Speaking dreams and fears and wisdom; what we gain as we grow old. Tottering off stage, fighting through the crowd; I tried to find Amelia, would she still be proud? Like flies to honey’s sweetness, all the boys had swarmed. Behaving like she hated it, I could tell in her heart she’d warmed.
Walking back to her hotel that night was no easy task. She had an early flight but celebrated with the class. Drunk six beers from frost rimmed glasses, bought for her by my friends’ dads. Along the street we strode, avoiding speeding cabs. Crosswalk lights fuzzy through our dark lined eyes. Stumbling behind me I heard Amelia cry, “Wait a minute can you! These heels are such a pain.” As she adjusted I glanced out, brewing up above was rain. I heard a shoe break, and a tiny gasp. I turned quick and saw her stretch an arm for me to grasp. No way to reach in time, I swear. A handful of her dress I seized and heard a mighty tear. Into the street she tumbled, on her back falling flat; a jumbo bus whizzed by me; then came a mighty SPLAT. Fast I ran away, too petrified to look, it was only at the hotel that I noticed what I took. Her dress of pink silk clutched within my grip. It smelled so sweet and magically had not attained one rip. Dizzy in the room, I hurried straight to bed. Sleep was the escape from the tempest in my head. The cops would call her family, and tell them what had happened; always look both ways before falling into traffic.
Early the next morning, butlers packed up the whole room. I had a chocolate croissant and drank a clean green juice. The trolley stacked with luggage, showered clean I felt my best. The only item left to wear was the pink party dress. Descending grand old staircase, to the lobby, just my style. Front desk attendees listened as I thanked them with a smile. “Everything was perfect! Please just charge the card on file.” They hoped to see me soon, in bigger rooms with extra space. I was in a rush as the flight took off at eight. Ensuring all was neat, I could depart without a trace. The bellhop walked me to the cab, then bent to tie my lace. The rearview mirror watched my new mole look dashing on my face.
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